


The Impossible

by krysnel_nicavis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Friendship, Romance, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-27
Updated: 2003-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krysnel_nicavis/pseuds/krysnel_nicavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus Flint, Oliver Wood and Percy Weasley. A friendship born from pain and loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> Fic Inspired by "The Impossible" by Joe Nichols. Was originally written as a tie-in with an old fic of mine called "Exchange Student's", but I decided to change it.

**1974 - Ireland**

"Mr. Flint," the midwife addressed the man waiting in the hall. "You may come in now." Mr. Flint stood and followed her into the room where his wife had just given birth to their first child.

"Lauren?" he softly called to his wife. She was sitting up in the bed, leaning against the headboard. In her arms was a newly born baby, wrapped in a blanket.

"Rodger, look," she gestured to the child, a smile on her face. Mr. Flint went forward and sat by his wife, looking down at the child. _Their_ child. "He has your eyes," She said.

 _"He?"_ A boy. A son. He had a son. His wife nodded, tears of joy brimming her eyes.

"What shall we call him?" she asked. He looked down at his son, who was blinking tiredly. He thought for a moment.

"Marcus," he replied simply.

**1975 - Scotland**

"Jordan?" Mr. Wood called to his Five year old son. "Jordan. Come here, son! Come meet you baby brother!"

"Daddy!" Jordan squealed as his father scooped him up with one arm. "What does he look like?" Mr. Wood chuckled.

"You'll have to wait and see." He carried his first born son into the room where his wife sat on the bed, cradling a tiny baby boy. Mr. Wood sat down beside his wife, Jordan on his lap. Jordan looked at the new born baby with wonder.

"What's his name?" He asked his mother.

"He doesn't have one yet." She replied, a smile on her face.

"Can _you_ think of a name, Jordan?" His father asked, also smiling.

"How about..." He thought, staring at his little brother. "Oliver!"

**1975 - England**

"Nick!" Charlie Weasley said.

"Nick?" Bill, his older brother, said in mock outrage. _"Nick?"_

"What?" Charlie replied. "It's a cool name."

"Nick Weasley? I don't think so," Bill said. "Besides, he doesn't even _look_ like a 'Nick'."

"Nicolas then."

"He doesn't look like a Nicolas either."

"Well, then. _You_ think of something," Charlie challenged. Their father chuckled.

"How about we let you mother decide what to name your brother," they nodded and looked at their mother expectantly. She also chuckled.

"Oh, alright," She said. "What do you think of Percival Ignatius Weasley." Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both chuckled this time. Both of their older sons looked traumatized at the name.

"Oh, I think Percival is a perfect name," Mr. Weasley agreed. Bill and Charlie hadn't quite come out of their shocked states yet. "We can call him Percy." At this, Bill and Charlie looked thoughtful.

"Percy Weasley?" Bill said with one eyebrow raised.

"It could work," Charlie said hopefully.

**1981**

Voldemort had fallen. The war is over.

People are everywhere, throwing parties.

Two people, in Godric's Hollow are dead. But they did not die in vain. Voldemort has fallen. A baby boy, one year old, has survived the wrath of Voldemort.

And Voldemort has fallen.

The Death Eaters are being rounded up, along with those associated with them. Some are granted trials. Others… others have a fate worse than death.

Among those captured and sentenced to Azkaban are the Lestranges, Bartimus Crouch Jr., and Rodger Flint.

As for those who were captured, only to have their names cleared, this list included the names of Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Macnair, Nott, Karkaroff, and Snape.

Many families are left broken. Many children left scarred. The youth that had to endure the pains of the war were forever stripped of a childhood. Too many were forced to grow up too fast. And too many died.

Among the dead, is Jordan Wood.

**1985 - Hogwarts**

All the first years had just crossed the lake, and currently stand in the small room off to the side of the Entrance hall. They wait to be lead into the Great Hall, and await the sorting ceremony. It is not long before they are standing in front of the rest of the school. One certain eleven year old boy stands a little away from the rest. When Professor McGonagall calls out "Flint, Marcus," he steps forward, sits on the three legged stool, and places the sorting hat on his head. After a few moments of hearing the hat speak quietly in his head, it shouts out lout and clear to the rest of the student body to hear. "Slytherin!"

**1986 - Hogwarts**

As Marcus watches the new first years, remembering the year before when he'd been sorted, and he feels a slight shred of sympathy. Like his year, this one has few people. He'd made friends with the other boys his age quickly. Adrian Pucey was his closest friend. They all look on as each student is sorted. Two students have caught his attention, though. One has flaming red hair. This, he gathers, is the infamous trait of a Weasley. His guess was right as Professor McGonagall calls out "Weasley, Percival," and the red head boy steps forward. He is sorted, like all Weasleys, into Gryffindor. When the new Weasley takes a seat beside what looks to be one of his older brothers, the next person is called. "Wood, Oliver," McGonagall says. A small boy steps forward, sits on the stool, and has the hat placed on his head. The sorting hat, after a few moments, shouts out "Gryffindor!".

**1992 - Hogwarts**

Marcus is walking down a deserted and seldom used corridor. He hears the sounds of muffled crying. Quietly inching towards the sound, he finds two Gryffindor boys sitting on the floor. One is crying, the other is hugging him, trying to calm him down.

"It's okay, Oliver. Just let it all out," The red haired one says to his friend. "It'll be okay."

"I know, Perce," Oliver replies, his voice shaking slightly. "I'll just miss him," He added quietly.

"I know what you mean," Percy said. "My grandfather died before I started school." He sighed. "I know how much you miss him." Marcus stays silent for a while, mulling over what he was hearing. He remembered what his mother had told him about _her_ father. He seemed to be a nice man. But Marcus never knew him. He'd died during the war against Voldemort, a few years before Marcus had been born. A sudden flood of emotion came over Marcus that he didn't fully understand, and then he began speaking to the two younger boys.

"What was he like?" He asked quietly. The other two jumped slightly, startled at the small intrusion. The looked up to where Marcus stood, leaning against the wall. They seemed to be sizing him up before they spoke.

"Why do _you_ want to know, Flint?" Oliver said, his voice still slightly shaky. Marcus stayed silent for a while. He moved from his place against the wall and sat down on Oliver's other side.

"I was just curious, I guess," Marcus finally replied, looking down at his feet. He looked up at the other two and was met with two curious and questioning looks, one tinged with sadness. "I never knew mine," He explained. "Ma's father died before I was born. And Da's was never around." He looked back down to his feet. His actions further confused the two Gryffindors, but they became willing to talk.

"He was a kind man," Oliver began. "He always made me feel like I was special." His eyes seemed to focus on a point beyond the far wall as he remembered back to his childhood. "He always treated me and my brother with the same amount of affection," Oliver said sadly as he clung to the faint memories of his older brother.

"You had a brother?" Marcus asked softly.

"His name was Jordan," Oliver answered. "He was killed in the war." He took a deep breath, fighting back the new waves of tears that threatened to overcome him. "He had just turned eleven," He explained, swallowing the lump in his throat. "And he'd just received his letter from Hogwarts." Suddenly unable to hold them back any longer, he let his tears fall freely. This time, however, it wasn't Percy who pulled him into a comforting embrace. It was Marcus. Oliver buried his face into the older boy's chest, his body shaking with his muffled sobs, Marcus soothingly rubbing his back. When Oliver began to calm down again, Marcus spoke.

"What are your Da's like?" He asked, his voice still soft.

"Mine's busy," Percy answered. "I never see him often. He works for the Ministry. During the war, I didn't see him at all." He spoke softly. "What's yours like?"

"I don't know," Marcus said, sorrow evident in his voice. "He's in Azkaban. Been there since I was seven." He paused for a moment. "He was sentenced without a trial." The two younger boys stayed silent. It took a moment for them to realize that tears were falling from Marcus' eyes. When they did, Percy moved to his other side, and he let himself be comforted by them. The three of them sat there, comforting each other in the silence as they cried for those who'd died. Those who'd been lost. And for the ones who, like them, had their memories and childhoods tainted with loneliness, pain, and despair. They never spoke of this meeting to anyone. Not even each other.

**1993 - Hogwarts**

Oliver and Percy were walking down the same seldom used corridor. When they came to the spot where they'd talked, they found Marcus sitting against the same wall as before. He had his head in his hands. He was obviously crying. Oliver and Percy sat on either side of him. Offering their silent support through their presence. Marcus stayed silent for a while. And they stayed beside him.

"He's dead," Marcus finally said, lifting his head. He said it so quietly that, had the corridor not been empty, Oliver and Percy would have missed it.

"Who?" Oliver asked softly.

"My Da," Marcus replied, tears falling constantly down his cheeks. Oliver embraced him as _he_ had the year before. Percy squeezed his shoulder. He cried for a long while. And they stayed beside him. None of them spoke much, but they really had no need to. After, like the year before, they never spoke of this again.

**1994 - Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch 1993/1994 Quidditch Final**

The crowd went wild as Harry Potter's hand closed around the snitch. Gryffindor had won. They'd won the Quidditch cup. After all these years, they'd finally won. Marcus had been flying in front of Oliver when it had been caught. When he'd finally looked away from Harry, and glanced up at Oliver, he was met by the smug grin that Oliver now sported. That was probably why they _both_ missed the stray bludger that came pelting their way. It was only when it hit Marcus square in the back that they finally noticed it. Not only had it caught their attention, but is also succeeded in knocking Marcus clean off his broom. Both of their reflexes may have been quick thanks to Quidditch, but when Oliver tried to catch Marcus and stop him from getting himself killed, he was pulled off his own broom. Before anyone had realized what had happened, Marcus and Oliver hit the ground with a dull thud – Marcus receiving the full impact, Oliver slamming on top of him. They'd managed to grab hold of each other's hands on the way down, and when they'd hit the ground, Oliver felt his wrist snap. Both were instantly knocked unconscious.

**1994 - Hogwarts Hospital Wing, a week later**

"Hey! I think he's waking up!" a voice somewhere on Oliver's left sounded. After letting the initial nausea, he opened his eyes, finding himself nose-to-nose with one of his beaters.

"Hiya Wood!" He exclaimed. If the bed wasn't keeping him in place, Oliver would have jumped backwards.

"George! Move back! Give him room!" Percy's voice came from his right. At that moment, Madame Pomfrey came in and, seeing Oliver awake, shooed the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team and the resident Head Boy out of the Hospital Wing. When she'd looked over him and found no long lasting damage, she told him he could leave when he'd got all his bearings together. She left him sitting on the edge of his bed. He was absently flexing his healed wrist when he noticed the only other occupant in the room. He was lying in a bed on the other side of the Hospital Wing, and still hadn't come to. Oliver silently stood up and, after gaining complete balance, walked over to where Marcus lay prone. He was slightly paler that usual, and had a sickly look about him. This disturbed Oliver as he took a seat in a chair beside the bed. He jumped slightly as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked expecting to see Madame Pomfrey but found Professor Dumbledore looking down at him, a look of support and understanding on his face.

"Is he going to be okay?" Oliver asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"He has suffered severe injuries to his back and head." Professor Dumbledore replied. "But the bludger that hit him cracked his spine in several spots." Dumbledore explained. _"If,_ and when, he wakes up he may never regain the use of his legs." Dumbledore said finally, then remaining silent to allow the information to sink in. Oliver – who had noticed the stressed 'if' – looked down at his rival, and couldn't help but feel like he'd failed the older boy somehow.

**1993 - Platform 9 3/4**

Mrs. Weasley stood on the opposite side of the barrier from the platform, waiting for her children to exit the school train. Percy was the last to emerge. Oliver came out after him. He said his goodbyes to the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, and then went to where his parents stood waiting.

Mrs. Flint stood not too far from them. She stared expectantly at the barrier, searching for her only son. Many students came out of the barrier. Almost the whole student body had come through, and the Weasley's had long gone. Oliver was still waiting with his parents, not too far from Mrs. Flint.

When the crowd of students began to thin out, an eighteen year old boy strolled through the barrier and walked right up to her.

"Hello, Ma," he said embracing her in a hug. When she'd let go of him, he noticed Oliver still off to one side with his folks. He pulled Oliver to one side.

"Hey, uh, look," Marcus began, clearing his throat. "I just wanted to thank you." Oliver looked puzzled.

"For what?"

"When I fell, you tried to grab me," Marcus replied. "You tried to save me, and only ended up putting yourself in danger." He grinned slightly. "Thank you. For trying to save me." Oliver returned the grin and clasped the older boy's extended hand. With that, they went their separate ways.

**2003 - Scotland**

Oliver had just returned home from Quidditch practice. He was greeted by the laughter of his five year old daughter Wendy and son Mark who were twins. His four year old son came running to him and he scooped him up in hug.

"Daddy!"

"Hello, Donny," He said. "Where's your mother?" Donny pointed towards the kitchen. He walked into the kitchen to find his pregnant wife with Jon their two year old son and Shelly their one year old daughter.

"Hello, Oliver sweetheart," She said. He kissed her on the cheek.

"Hello, Maria darling."

"We got a letter," She said. "It's over there, on the counter." Putting Donny back on the floor, he went over to the said counter and opened the waiting letter.

"Well, will you look at that?" He said as he read through it. "Looks like that sister of yours and her boyfriend are finally getting married."

"Yes, and he's asked _you_ to be his best man."

**2003 - England**

"Honey! I'm home!" Percy called to his wife Zoë as he walked through the door. His five year old twin girls Eleanor and Bree came running towards him.

"Daddy!" They cried in unison, giggling.

"Hello girls!" He said, bending down to hug them. "Where's your mother and brother?"

"They're in the living room!" Eleanor exclaimed. He walked into the living room one girl hanging off each arm, and found his pregnant wife sitting on the couch reading to their three year old son Tripp.

"Hello dear, how was work today?" She said as he sat down beside her. Their daughters had proceeded to run off and play.

"Hello," He said as he kissed her. "It was the same old routine." He noticed a letter of the coffee table beside the couch. "What's this?"

"Oh, it's a wedding invitation from my cousin," Zoë replied. He opened it and read through it.

"So they're finally going to do it, eh?"

**2003 - Ireland**

"Do you, Marcus Rodger Flint, take Kristy to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part?" the priest said.

"I do," Marcus replied without hesitation.

"And do you, Kristy Levi Mathers, take Marcus to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part?"

"I do," she said, smiling at Marcus.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest concluded. "You may kiss the bride."

"He's obviously already did _way_ more than _that_ to her already," the best man Oliver said teasingly. Marcus turned to him.

"Oh, sod off!" He replied, only half serious. Everyone laughed and he kissed his newly wedded wife. When they broke apart, they were bombarded by their twin five year old girls Jennifer and Cameron, their four year old daughter Nicola, and their one year old son Tyler was placed in Kristy's arms.

"I rest my case," Oliver said, grinning broadly. Marcus glared at him, but still joined in on the laughing.

\- 30 -

THE END


End file.
